


Drown

by puppylovele (orphan_account)



Series: Soulmates [10]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Heavy Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 23:26:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11565558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/puppylovele
Summary: Two Aurors pay Remus a visit shortly after James and Lily's deaths.





	Drown

**_Who will fix me now_ **

**_Dive in when I drown_ **

**_Save me from myself_ **

**_Don’t let me drown_ **

**_Who will make me fight_ **

**_Drag me out alive_ **

**_Save me from myself_ **

**_Don’t let me drown_ **

_Drown - Seafret_

 

He went to Sirius’ house a week after Halloween. The aftermath and the funeral arrangements, coupled with a full moon shortly after, had lost him another job and he hadn’t had money for rent. He didn’t want to see their old home, but he needed a place to live for a while and he knew that nobody would bother him there.

The sheets smelled of lavender soap (because Sirius liked the smell so that’s all they bought), with a hint of motor oil (because Sirius refused to shower before his middle-of-they-day naps no matter how dirty the sheets got), and mostly of sweat. It hadn’t been a warm October, but Sirius always slept restlessly and twisted and turned in his sleep, sweating, when he was agitated or upset. The dirty-blond gripped the sheets, not needing to kneel down for the smell to overwhelm his nostrils and mind. In his mind’s eye, he could see his old lover on the bed. Those wrinkles on the right side of the bed - that must have been where he had his hand, because the sheets were pulled slightly. The pillow was in the middle of the bed, crumpled into a moon shape because of course it was, Sirius had used it.

He noticed, with a fresh sting of pain going through his body like a Stunning spell, that his own pillow was untouched. It had been pushed to the side a bit during Sirius’ trashing of the sheets but it hadn’t been used the way the rest of the bed had been.

~FLASHBACK~

“ _Sirius, I swear to Merlin, if you touch my pillow again I will hex you so bad, Lily won’t be able to fix it!” Remus growled as he threw aside his pillow cover and grabbed a new one from the linen closet._

_“I don’t see what the issue is! It’s just a pillow!” Sirius responded, throwing up his hands in exasperation._

_“I put my head on it and I would like it if it was clean after I come home tired and wanting to sleep in a nice, clean bed - that I washed the sheets for_ **_again_ ** _this week, by the way,” his boyfriend responded dryly._

_“Moony you’re talking like as if I threw it into the gutter or used it as a flannel. All I did was put it between my legs,” Sirius huffed back. He was frowning now, and his expression was less stubborn._

_Remus could tell he had won the argument already by the look in Sirius’ eyes. “I want a nice, cool pillow to put my head on,” he said, a bit more gently this time._

_“I honestly don’t see the problem here - you_ **_love_ ** _putting your head on my crotch,” Sirius tried to joke, but his smile was not convincing._

_Remus snorted a quick laugh anyway. “I do, but by choice. You of all people should understand why I’d rather smell fresh sheets than your ball sweat, you start moping if I so much as buy a different kind of soap because ‘it_ smells _wrong, Moony’.” His imitation of Sirius at the end was in an exaggeratedly deep, posh voice, making the raven-haired boy smirk._

_“Alright, Moony,” Sirius said, pulling the werewolf towards him by the hips and putting his head on his stomach, as if he is listening to Remus’ body. “I won’t touch your pillow again, I solemnly swear.”_

_“I believed you until you said ‘solemnly swear’. When have we ever used that non-sardonically since the Map’s creation?”_

_Sirius looked up at him with an odd look, then. A cross between adoring and astonishment which Remus couldn’t begin to guess why Sirius would feel during this rather boring conversation._

_“I promise, Remus. Your pillow will be freshly washed and pressed every time you come home, so long as you keep coming home to me.”_

_The werewolf rolled his eyes, then hugged his boyfriend’s head since that was all he could reach from where he was standing. “No need to make promises you will hate keeping. Just don’t use it as a pillow for your balls and I will be happy.”_

_“But my boys need support, Moony,” Sirius fake-whined onto Remus’ stomach._

_“I’ll support them,” Remus said in a grave tone. “I’ll make ‘Vote for Padfoot’s Balls’ pins and everything.”_

_They both started laughing._

_~FLASHBACK~_

He didn’t know what to do with himself. He wanted to tear the sheets apart, tear _himself_ apart or just break down and cry, holding the pillow close to his chest pretending Sirius was there with him still. And, just a little, he wished that Sirius had killed him along with Peter.

Remus’ hands were not trembling when he reached out for the frame on Sirius’ side of the bed, of the picture of James and Lily the morning of their wedding. He took it firmly into his hands and removed the picture. His hands were still steady when he brought the picture up to his face and brushed his lips gently upon it, as if he were scared of hurting the moving-but-not-alive couple within it who couldn’t even feel anything from the physical world, let alone get hurt by it.

And when he cried himself to sleep, his tears were for Lily and James.

~

He didn’t wash the sheets for much, much longer than an acceptable period of time for a civilized adult (he didn’t know if being a werewolf and technically a beast worked in his favor in this case or not). Not that it mattered, he didn’t sleep in the bed. He slept on the couch and only went into the bedroom when his bones threatened to leave his body they were itching so bad to go there ‘just one more time’ and his breath was so constricted he felt like he was drowning.

“ _You don’t need water to drown,” he thought to himself, unable to remember where the quote was from._

He didn’t bother lying to himself and saying he would never go back. He knew he would. The scent, the memory, the _essence_ of the love of his life was there. Of course he would.

Some days he spent hours pretending it was 1980 and talked to an imaginary Sirius about completely mundane things. An hour last Tuesday had been spent on how the bookshop Remus was working at part-time last summer had had the worst organization system he had ever seen. He didn’t know how long Real Sirius would have put up with the conversation, but Imaginary Sirius was a great listener.

Remus would often take the crossword into the bedroom where he felt Sirius’ presence the strongest and try to solve it with the imaginary boy who was much less helpful than the Real Sirius had been.

_Fantastic listener now, better than ever, but seems to have lost his knack for crosswords and trivia,_ Remus thought to himself and smiled bitterly at his own twisted joke.

Eventually, Aurors came to his door.

“Peter,” he said as soon as he opened the door, “Have you found his body?”

“Good…morning Mr. Lupin,” one of the Aurors said after looking Remus over, obviously thinking he had just woken up, despite the fact that it was late afternoon. “No, we have not recovered a body and do not expect to. We think the finger wasn’t a side-effect of a spell that transported him, we are convinced that whatever explosive spell Black cast, it simply… Missed a spot.”

“‘Missed a spot’,” Remus repeated slowly. The two Aurors looked solemn and sincere, but the werewolf couldn’t imagine how somebody could talk about a murder in that way and not be trying to make a joke of it.

“May we come in?” said the other, glancing inside from over Remus’ head.

“Am I to be questioned again?” Remus asked, “Because the Full is soon, so you will need to be much quicker this time.” He hoped he sounded nonchalant. In a second, he knew that had, because the second Auror winced. He smiled. Sirius had taught him that, to take pleasure in the uncomfortableness of others about his lycanthropy, if they deserved it. And people who had interrogated him for a week with methods definitely illegal to be used on humans definitely deserved it, in Remus’ mind. James would have thought so.

“No, Mr. Lupin. We are actually here simply to relay a message,” the first Auror said, looking rather bored. “Mrs. Black’s lawyers felt they couldn’t, ah, feel safe talking to you alone.”

Remus pretended to look behind the Aurors, although it was obvious there was nobody with them. He raised an eyebrow and looked expectantly at the Auror.

To his surprise, the Auror chuckled. “I’m Icast,” he said, and raised his hand. “I s’pose introductions are good to have before we ask to enter your home, eh?” He pointed with his head to the other Auror. “He’s Parkinson.” He paused. “Junior,” he added as if to explain why the younger Auror was looking as if he were about to get sick.

Remus looked at Icast’s hand for a while before looking back up. Manners demanded he shake the hand - especially when somebody who knew he was a werewolf offered it to him - but he did not feel sociable today. “How can I help?” he asked instead, although the words ‘Mrs. Black’s lawyers’ had said all that he needed to know.

Icast sighed when he took his hand down, but he seemed bothered by something other than Remus’ lack of courtesy. He shrugged his left shoulder and gave Remus a look as if to say ‘they are making me do this stupid chore I don’t believe in’. The werewolf appreciated that and almost regretted not having shaken his hand. “Mrs. Black, she…” He looked around. “Are you sure we cannot come in? Not that I mind, but I feel… I’m quite certain I could talk more freely inside.” He looked pointedly at his left side, past the Junior Auror.

At last, Remus gave in and stepped aside to let them in. Parkinson looked so relieved that Remus wondered if it had been whoever was watching them that had put him at unease, and not Remus being a werewolf.

“I would offer tea, but I am quite certain I have none left,” he said, without guilt in his tone. They were unexpected guests, after all.

“Quite alright, Mr. Lupin,” Parkinson squeaked. Icast smiled at him in approval, visibly pleased that he was talking with Remus.

“I’ll cut to the chase, mate,” he said to Remus, “The old witch has pulled every connection she has - not that she needed to, to be honest - to ensure that every cent Sirius Black owns went to her. Although he is not dead yet, since he is sentenced to life in Azkaban with no visitation or potential for a retrial—”

Remus cut him off. “Trial, you mean. There was never one to begin with.” He didn’t know why he was defending Sirius. Dumbledore had shown him all the evidence. A trial would simply have been a legal checkbox to check, if it had happened. The evidence was there and the most trustworthy and wise wizard believed it. What more was there to it?

Still, part of him couldn’t help but speak up for Sirius in this small way.

“Right you are,” Icast said with a small smile, “Trial. Since there is no chance of him getting out of Azkaban, she didn’t need to do much to get him declared legally dead for inheritance purposes.”

“His will—” Remus started, then paused. Sirius may have - and probably had - updated it since they spoke of it last. What he remembered was that Sirius had left everything to James and Harry. James was gone, but Harry was still alive. Then he suddenly understood. “Harry is not of age, so she demands the rights to the funds until he is?” he asked.

At this, Icast looked confused. He looked at the werewolf with furrowed eyebrows for several moments before speaking. “It…” He stopped, then started again as if he had decided to reword his thoughts. “There was a small amount left to Harry Potter, yes. But since he is already the owner of a rather sizable fortune from his own family, the money Mr. Black left him, in his own words, was for ‘fun and games that his mother may be against’.” Another pause. “It was an interesting will, written by himself and not a lawyer, for the most part.” He looked at the ground, then back at Remus. “His will, it… He left ’most everything to you.”

“What?” Remus asked before he could stop himself.

“The money in his Gringott’s account, and this house. He left them to you. He also mentioned a cottage in the will but neither Mrs. Black nor the Ministry could find any trace of it. Either it is unplottable and secret, or it is an inside joke. We at the office thought it might be, since the will seemed so full of them.”

The werewolf blinked several times. Sirius had left him everything? But they weren’t even—

“When did he write it? Or rather, when was the most recent copy received by the Ministry?”

Icast smiled knowingly. “I understand what you are thinking. The copy was received a month prior to Mr. Black’s arrest.”

If he had been confused before, he didn’t know what to call his state now. What could that mean?

“One of the reasons for your - er - _extensive_ questioning was the will, actually,” Icast said, and Parkinson looked at him worriedly.

“Are we allowed to share that?” he asked nervously.

Icast waved him off. “He won’t tell on us. But you are right to ask; in most cases I would say that no, we should not share investigation information with civilians, especially persons of interest or anybody connected to the crime.” When he turned back to Remus, his ‘teaching voice’ was gone and the gentle tone was back. “We are not allowed to share the will as it is considered evidence. However, I can tell you that he cared about you. Wherever his loyalties regarding James Potter may have lain—”

“He would have killed me before he betrayed James,” Remus cut him off. His mouth had moved without his knowing, again. He cursed himself internally. He had to be more collected. When was the full moon? It must be less than three days now if he was acting like this.

Icast looked pensive again. “If that were so,” he said slowly, “Why didn’t he?”

“I thought you weren’t questioning me,” Remus shot back, without anger.

“I’m not,” the Auror responded, scratching his stubbled chin, “But I have to admit this case intrigues me still, as ‘closed’ as it may be.”

“Oh?”

“Anybody I talk to about Sirius Black - even those who hate him - all agree that he loved James Potter. And you seem to agree. You think that he would - _kill,_ you said - his lover than betray him. Yet here we are.”

“Here we are,” Remus agreed, refusing to give the Auror anything more.

“What do you think happened?”

“You weren’t intrigued enough to read my interrogation report?” Remus asked dryly.

“I have,” Icast responded, waving a dismissive hand in the air again. “But nobody asked you that directly. They went on and on about if you were still involved with Black, if you had worked for You-Know-Who— Nobody asked what you _think_ happened.”

“There’s no way for me to know, is there?” he said tiredly, “We were not speaking when it happened. I hadn’t been his ‘ _lover_ ’ for a while, by then.” He had stressed the word ‘lover’ as if it were a disgusting thing. He had never liked the term, and he certainly didn’t like it in the context Icast was using it.

“I am not asking you to tell me the objective truth. I want to know your theory. What _you_ think happened.”

Remus could have waved him off. Told him to get to the point and tell him to get out of the apartment because Walburga wanted it. But he knew that he would never again have a chance to talk about this with anybody, so he decided to indulge, a little. “I think that maybe he didn’t know that James would die,” he said carefully, searching for recognition in the Auror’s eyes.

“You think he was double-crossed,” he replied quickly, and got up to his feet in excitement, nodding as he thought. “You think they— What, Vold— You-Know-Who promised him to only kill Lily Potter?”

Remus shrugged. “It was Harry that Voldemort was after.” He watched Parkinson for a reaction at Voldemort’s name. Other than a gulp, he saw none. He turned back to Icast. “Sirius loved Harry too, but he may have been— Perhaps Voldemort told him he would not kill Harry but rather use him or send him far away to make sure he doesn’t interfere.” He sighed. “There is no point speculating. I do not know what happened. But I don’t believe for a second that Sirius intended this outcome.”

“You _do_ believe that he worked for Voldemort, though?”

“Yes,” he said, but shook his head ‘no’. “He was the Secret Keeper. You can’t force that information out. The Imperius Curse would not have worked either.”

“You don’t sound surprised.”

The werewolf smiled and even without a mirror he could tell that it was one of his sinister ones, the ‘evil’ grin as Peter used to call it. He usually saved it for his Ministry visits. “I have had time to digest. And, well, what else is there to do but accept it?”

_I could kill myself_ , he thought but did not voice. He looked towards the kitchen, wondering if he should have coffee. Not what he wanted, but he really _was_ out of tea.

Icast didn’t look convinced, but dropped the subject. He sat back down, and took a deep breath. “The reason for our visit, Mr. Lupin,” he said, “Is that although Mr. Black left you everything, you are not entitled to it.”

“Of course,” Remus said, nodding. He wished he had a cup of tea in his hand. It would be a good moment to take a sip to punctuate. “What is the cited reason? I would assume my being a werewolf would be enough, but Walburga is nothing if not thorough.”

“That was the main one, yes.”

_And the fact that I am a male who can’t produce heirs, a half-blood as well as a half-breed, not legally bound to her dear son— So many things she probably made sure to publicize and stress,_ Remus thought. He let out a small chuckle.

“She could have just asked,” he said.

Icast frowned. “I don’t know how long you need to vacate but the lawyers were talking about two weeks.”

The werewolf thought about it and licked his lips before he spoke. “What’s the date?”

“Fifth of December,” Parkinson said and Remus was silently grateful he had mentioned the month, too. He would have guessed December if he had had to, but he hadn’t been sure.

“End of month?” he offered, as if the Aurors cared or had any say in it.

“Of course,” Icast said and Remus was pleasantly surprised. His surprise must have been evident in his expression because Icast continued talking to clarify. “If I tell them they have to wait a month, they will wait a month.”

“Thank you, Mr. Icast.”

“Icast is my first name, actually. Sounds rather odd, saying Mr. Icast,” the Auror said with a huff of a laugh. “And it is no bother, Mr. Lupin.” He got up to leave. “And that is our job done, I s’pose.” He gave his jaw one more scratch and turned to Remus with a curious look that reminded Remus painfully of James, as did the words that came out of his mouth after. “For what it’s worth, I think it is rubbish that you cannot inherit what was specifically left to you in a will.”

“If Sirius truly intended to leave it all to me, he should have been smarter,” Remus said, gently. The truth was, Sirius probably _had_ intended it, but had been too childish to think it through. “A smart man would not leave money to a werewolf as simply as ‘he has my Gringott’s account now’. I wasn’t even allowed to put my name on the lease of his house when we moved in.”

Icast nodded, but in true Auror fashion kept a suspicious face. They left and Remus put his back against the door, looking at the hallway and wondering what he would do.

Two pairs of Sirius’ boots were sprawled haphazardly against the wall on the left, and a few familiar cloaks hung on the hanger on the right side. There was still two pairs of keys floating right by the cloaks, ready to be grabbed on the way out. Remus had asked Lily to charm a key holder like that because Sirius was hopeless at remembering his keys, and they had warded the house against Apparition.

Everywhere he looked, he saw their life together. He may not have lived here in the months leading to October 31st but he sure had lived there before. The place was remarkably unchanged, except for the lack of Remus’ things left around. No dirty teacups on the coffee table, and none of his clothes in the closet. And yet, whatever he _had_ left behind, had been kept exactly the same. Even the few books he had not bothered packing were laying in the precise way he had left them. Three of them on the bookshelf (one fallen to its side), one on the lower section of the coffee table.

He wondered if Sirius, too, had tried to keep Remus in the house the way Remus was trying to keep Sirius by not disturbing any sign of the Animagus’ existence in the place. Maybe he had missed him, too.

_He broke things off,_ he told himself, _He was working for Voldemort and he shut you out._

He gritted his teeth and made himself walk to the kitchen, sitting down on an uncomfortable stool. Peter had bought these stools for them, thinking they looked fancy, and they had been too grateful for the housewarming gift to transfigure them.

A traitorous thought crept into his mind. _Maybe he alienated me to protect me._

He shook his head to get the thought out, and scowled at his own naïveté. Why was he trying to make a martyr out of a murderer?

Funny, how alone he felt, more alone than ever before, even during his long Order missions. Because back then, there was a home to think of. Friends to see later. And now he had no one. He would transform alone again, with no hope for ever getting a painless full moon in the future. No hope.

“Why _did_ you do it?” he asked the empty kitchen.


End file.
